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Last Gasp of the Old World [MT, IC, APPLY FOR ENTRY]

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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South Reinkalistan
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Posts: 1328
Founded: Mar 12, 2019
Psychotic Dictatorship

Last Gasp of the Old World [MT, IC, APPLY FOR ENTRY]

Postby South Reinkalistan » Wed Mar 03, 2021 5:19 pm

OOC thread: viewtopic.php?ns=1&f=5&t=500013&p=38412455#p38412455

KaskiaRepublic
People's Federation of Reinkalistan

Image
The hilly terrain in Central Kaskia is frequently used as a base area for Rekkutomel insurgents

"My time is up; yours has just begun. Do your ancestors proud, and by the Saviour's glory don't let us down."

Hattakan Foothills
7:04 PM

    A light breeze blew through the lonely hills, clumps of foliage and small bushes rustling in its wake. The evening sun cast its light through the clouds, shadows stretching as the clock continued ticking down to nightfall. It seemed a land at peace, with little of man's intervention in sight. At this particular location, only a small dirt road betrayed the presence of the P.F.R.'s usually extensive public infrastructure, a utility long since fallen into complete and utter disuse. As peaceful as it may have seemed, however, this territory was no friend to Communists. Red Army motorised convoys would be frequently ambushed by large amounts of Rekkutomel insurgents, violent monarchists springing to kill the reds and steal their equipment, before fleeing with what they'd captured. Forged from a defunct military unit after the Reinkalistani Civil War, generations of dedicated royal restorationists had fought and died to realise the reinstatement of the Reinkalistani monarchy.

    Following the fall of the crown in North Reinkalistan in the 80s, the Rekkutomel had lost a large amount of their foreign support, and began to slowly but surely fade away as a result. During this period, the leadership had fallen into disarray, and the protracted infighting saw the organisation's days - in the eyes of the government - to be quite certainly numbered. During these times, seen as chronic for the Rekkutomel, the son of the late Duke of Kaskia, Sarkos Tunchix, slowly managed to wrest control of the disparate factions and reunite the monarchist front under his claim for the throne. After a decade of subtle negotiations with the East Asian Defense League and NATO for support, along with careful management of resources, he had managed to build a rather solid resistance where many had seen a lost cause. By 2014, the Rekkutomel was back in full action, and the government was forced to commit more forces to the Republic of Kaskia in order to combat this new threat.

    And it was now, seven years onwards, that Sarkos stood outside the Rekkutomel's base area, beset by a melancholy sense of defeat, itself carrying just the slightest hint of hope. A rounded scar on his cheek marked a previous close shave with death, while his greyed and wispy hair sat atop his balding scalp. Eyes once a brilliant green now looked sad and tired. For thirty-five damned years he had served in the Rekkutomel, and for twenty of those he had led them; despite that, the battle raged on, and the insurgency seemed to be failing to make any major ground. His efforts had seen the damned Communists frightened, all right -- but that just meant more of their armed goons marching through the region, oppressing his countrymen and slaughtering his soldiers. He sighed, gazing into the distance as the sun sank closer to the horizon. He was getting too old for this shit. He had to come to terms with the reality that he'd never be King of Reinkalistan.

    And it came to him, as he had been thinking for many months now, the proper course of action. The Rekkutomel needed fresher, younger faces; not an old man weathered by time. To this end, he had multiple candidates in mind. But at the back of his head, there was a rather unorthodox idea. Titles in the Duchy of Kaskia had always been inherited by men. Women, unless there was no other option, had never really had much of an opportunity to see regal tenure. But Naranya Tunchix, daughter and youngest child of the aging Duke, impressed him far beyond any of his various sons, whose commitment and skills found themselves lacking at times. Her worrying ruthlessness aside, he saw much of himself in the girl. Charismatic, dedicated, and rather proficient in an understanding of the various functions of the insurgency, she would be the perfect choice, presuming he wanted to carry his House to the throne. Admittedly, he could place command in the hands of one of the higher-ups; and a small part of him knew that to be the better option. But he had sworn to carry on his lineage to the utmost, on his father's grave, and he wasn't going to give that up. Even now, he could feel the cold, dying hands of his old man, life draining out of the eyes of the figure to raise him. "You won't have died in vain, father." He whispered, words quickly lost to the wind.

Rekkutomel Base Area
9:23 PM

    Naranya stood at the door to her father's room. She wasn't sure why she'd been summoned in such a manner. The Duke usually quite casual with her, reserving formality for those he considered more important regarding Rekkutomel politics. She'd led quite a few raids, and participated in even more, but despite this, Sarkos most certainly seemed to fail to take her seriously. The look in his eyes, however, when he had told her to meet him here an hour earlier, were anything but the condescending dismissiveness she had grown so accustomed to. She had not yet understood as to whether this was a good thing or not. Heart pounding, she creaked open the door and stepped in. The sight was, again, unconventional. Sarkos was seated at a table; he did not seem to have his typical glint of inspired brilliance in his eyes, nor the light-hearted, patronising aura he so frequently wore around her. His face was grey, a worn and serious expression plastered over it. It was not even calculative: he was grimly sincere.

    "Father," Naranya began, taking a seat, "I've arrived."

    She was greeted with a momentary silence, her father seeming to be thinking carefully. After what seemed like an eternity - though it could have been no more than ten seconds - he spoke. "Naranya." The tone was heavy and burdened. "I have called you here for a... rather important subject. It's a burden I have failed to bear, and that you must now in turn."

    "What is it?" Worry flashed across the woman's face.

    He sighed. Might as well get it out quickly. "I'm abdicating my title as Duke. With full control over the realm's inheritance, you'll be taking my place as Duchess of Kaskia and thus leader of the Rekkutomel."

    Silence ensued. Naranya seemed to take the news relatively calmly, but there was no disguising the utter shock which had gripped her at that moment, seizing from her the confidence and determination she had carried herself with. "That... me? As... Duchess? That's insane! The rest of the council wouldn't allow it!" She cried.

    "They will allow it." Came the stern reply. "I've been in charge for decades, and it's thanks to me they even have an army anymore."

    "But... why me?"

    "Because I have said so. I have considered it, and you are the most capable of leading both the House Tunchix and the Rekkutomel itself."

    With frightened despondence, Naranya interjected. "I-I can't-"

    "You shall." Sarkos said forcefully, irritation more than creeping into his voice. "You were born for this. As was I, as was my father, and as was his; it is a burden we carry, one we have always carried, on behalf of a people whose livelihoods hinge on our ability to prevent tyranny and secure the rule of law. It is my duty to ensure this lineage is maintained for the benefit of the country, and if I decree it to be your duty as well, then it shall be." He took a deep breath. "I place my faith in you so that you may not just maintain this rebellion, but bring it to its conclusion."

    "Father, I'm... I'm only thirty-six! I can't run this!"

    "Not much younger than me than when I took your position, Duchess. I'm announcing my abdication and resignation tomorrow." With that, the old man began to get up.

    "Wait!" Cried his daughter. "You can't... you can't just drop this on me and expect me to take it in my stride! I cannot be burdened with duty whilst you forget that I'm human! You know the weight of what you place upon my shoulders, yet you leave it unattended and abrupt all the same. How can I stand with this weighing me down?"

    Sarkos chuckled as he opened the door to leave. "That weight is the hopes and dreams of millions. Stop focusing on how it pushes you down, and think about how it will lift you up." With that, and before Naranya could protest, he stepped out of the room and briefly walked off, leaving a bemused and deeply worried woman in his wake.

About a week later...

Village of Terenna
12:58 PM

    Sarkos stood with barely-subdued pride as he watched his daughter step forward. A camera was pointing at her, preparing to record. Hundreds of Rekkutomel soldiers sat gathered around, rifles in hand and somber faces. No doubt many of them were reluctant to see this woman become the duchess. But out of respect for Sarkos, and upon his insistence and command, they had accepted. She was to give her speech to the core group of dedicated revolutionaries to be under her command, and furthermore for it to be broadcast to the world. This, he reasoned, would mark a new era. One which would, with time, see his father's vision fulfilled, and the hundreds of millions on the subcontinent liberated from Communist tyranny.

    He had helped her prepare a speech for the past few days, her reluctance quickly moulding itself into a steadfast, morbid dedication. Discipline ran in the House of Tunchix, it would seem. Now, as she stood before, the seconds counting down to her official inheritance, Sarkos looked fondly onwards. With a deep breath, Naranya began her speech.

    Countrymen!

    I speak to you having just succeeded my father, the honourable Sarkos Tunchix, as the monarch presiding over the Duchy of Kaskia.

    I am now, also, the commander of this free army, dedicated to the liberation of our people from Communism.

    It is an honour to serve. Upon our shoulders rests the livelihoods and liberties of everyone in this country. These are not fetters; these are wings.

    For we fight knowing that behind each blow we strike, there is the full power of our compatriots underlying our efforts, not jackbooted thugs and brainwashed conscripts.

    The authority of the police-state is derived from rifles and work-camps, while our struggle is legitimised by birthright and honour.

    They expect that we will keel over and die. They expect us to go out without a fight! They wish to smother us, render us their puppets or meat on their bayonets.

    We will not submit. Their blood will stain the ground, or ours will. It is the final battle for the soul of a nation.

    I understand that not everyone here desires to see me lead this insurgency. You see me weak, young, inexperienced. That is fine.

    I do not ask for your respect. I ask for the steel in your hearts and the courage in your veins. That which you have dedicated since day one.

    Our leadership has shifted. Our objective has not: the utter eradication of the Communist filth, the enslavers of our kin.

    The nation shall be reborn in fire. Today is the turning-point: the decisive offensive against the People's Federation begins.

    To the death, countrymen. Fortune favours the bold.

    And so it began. All eyes turn to Reinkalistan, now. Is this the nascency of counter-revolution, or just another small hurdle for the P.F.R.'s administration? As states once more scramble to pick sides, the future seems uncertain. The only guarantee is that blood will be spilled.
Last edited by South Reinkalistan on Wed Mar 03, 2021 5:27 pm, edited 2 times in total.
THE PEOPLE ETERNAL
Esotericist vanguard-state with cyber-Leninist aesthetics. You read that right.


LAST GASP OF THE OLD WORLD JOIN THE TNPL RESIST WESTERN LIBERALISM BUY OUR GUNS
Meme courtesy of Khoronzon. | It's all Zeloria? Always has been. | The amogus thing. | aaaa I can't stop listening ;-;
Now with chapters: (1), (2), (3)
This nation is a story. It focuses on Reinkalistan, but reaches far beyond its borders.


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Allanea
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Founded: Antiquity
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Allanea » Tue Mar 09, 2021 2:14 am

The message is delivered by courier. It is the only way to deliver the message. It is not on any digital carrier – no key, no encryption. There is only a thin sheet of paper, so thin it is easily secreted, rolled up, in a pen on the courier's person, the letters so small they can be barely read.

The letter is for the Duchess' eyes only. Out of respect for her position, it is signed by the Queen of Allanea in person.

My dear friend!

To commence our communication, let me say first that I request that you destroy this letter as soon as you are finished reading it. I will provide proof that it is genuine – namely, three days after the courier delivers this letter, your men will hear the phrase "the memorial ceremonies for Colonel Douglas Shvenkov will make use of blue roses rather than the conventional red or black" on Allanea's Army Radio. However, the letter must be destroyed. It contains information and predictions that could be damaging to your cause if released. Burn it and spread the ashes carefully or use any other such method that would prevent reconstruction of its contents completely and utterly.

To be blunt about it, I have consulted the men and women who will normally consult a Queen on such matters, those ruffians who inhabit the dark passages under any Ministry of War worth its name, and their most expert judgement is that your cause is doomed. The absolute best case scenario is that you will be able to maintain the existence of the Duchy of Kaskia, the worst-case is that you are leading your men to a series of glorious, yet doomed, last stands. It is my moral obligation to warn you against this course of action.

Doubtless, you will believe that once the die is cast, there is no more of a way out for you, your men, and their families – certainly no honorable way out. There is only, now, the glorious struggle, a new Vandee, a new Don. Feasibly this is so. I propose, however, a series of actions that will allow us to preserve what can be preserved, while allowing you, and your closest associates, to take the other path. (Although, to be frankly, I do not believe it would be dishonorable to evacuate even yourself – I do not know if I can persuade you of this).

To be clear: you must not allow it to be published that I believe the above things. It would be a terrible blow to the morale of the brave men and women fighting at your side, and would make a tragic outcome more likely, and far faster. I need not elaborate the terrifying effect that panic may have on men's souls.

Then, we must conceive of ways to save what can be saved, and to inflict as much damage and suffering on the foes of liberty as we can.

For this purpose, I would like the option to work with your organization (which I will refer to as 'the government' henceforth) to provide it with help. For this purpose I would like to send out the proper contacts to your organization, to deliver aid in the form of weapons, volunteers, and instructors. In return I would like you to assist in organizing orderly, honorable evacuation – on return flights – of children, the elderly, and the injured to the Free Kingdom of Allanea, as well as those officials who will serve as ambassador, consul, military attache etc. to the Free Kingdom. I expect that, as part of their duties, these individuals will also provide the Ministry of War with such intelligence as may be needed for us to improve our assistance to the lawful government, that's to say, [i]your
government.

Your friend,
Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky, Empress of Greater Prussia, Queen of Allanea, et cetera.


* * *


It was to nobody's surprise that the message was real, and indeed the necessary code phrase was in fact mentioned on Army Radio.

Now, the Allaneans waited.
Last edited by Allanea on Tue Mar 09, 2021 2:16 am, edited 3 times in total.
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South Reinkalistan
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1328
Founded: Mar 12, 2019
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby South Reinkalistan » Wed Mar 10, 2021 11:56 am


Fort Maykay
11:04 PM

Fire roared as the letter was engulfed in flame. The paper curled, swiftly turning black as Naranya herself sat solemnly, considering her next moves. The matter-of-fact statements from Queen Cassiopeia had not really been morale-inspiring for her; it was well-known that Allanea was no stranger to military confrontation and intervention. A declaration from such a position and under such circumstances that her rebellion was doomed did not invoke confidence so early into her leadership.

Admittedly, she had held on to the letter - against her better judgement - out of hope that the letter was fake, perhaps sent by the Politburo to unsettle her. But as the coded confirmation from the Allanean Army Radio came through just moments ago, it was taken on board and she burned the message. Quite upsetting, but to be taken in one's stride. No point in lingering on grim news -- she could not abandon her men so soon after promising to lead them to victory. The Rekkutomel would go all-in and die, or emerge victorious. If the former was much more likely, even inevitable, so be it. It changed nothing.

At least they saw it right to provide help. After all, their goals were aligned. Recent tensions between the occupier-government and Free Kingdom had been subject of much interest to the insurgency leadership, with differing reactions across the board. What was seen as the excessive liberalism of Allanea conflicted with the more conservatively-minded veterans of the war in Kaskia. What had been agreed, and indeed asserted by the Duchess, however, was that beggars couldn't be choosers and that both had vested interests against the false regime in Shikarewatis (no Rekkutomel soldier would ever dare to call it Turaniskidak).

Sighing, she decided to get started on her reply. After all, she couldn't leave the Allaneans waiting.





DUCHY OF KASKIA
OFFICIAL COMMUNIQUE FROM HER MAJESTY THE DUCHESS

To: Queen Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky
Encryption: High
Regarding: Allanean Support for the Rekkutomel/Duchy of Kaskia

Your letter was received with much appreciation.

Regardless, it is understood that the Rekkutomel accepts the terms proposed by Your Majesty. The Rekkutomel - in the territory presently under its control - maintains a number of runways from which we can carry out this evacuation effort; those elderly and injured willing to leave will do so, as will children. Let us hope this is a temporary measure.

The representatives requested will be dispatched to your country, under the leadership of the former Duke, Sarkos Tunchix; he shall serve as ambassador. I personally thank you for your continued assistance against the terrorist-entity currently occupying much of the Reinkalistani subcontinent. The Duchy and the brave fighters on our side are in your debt.

Death to the Marxist fiend.

I have the honour to remain,
Duchess Naranya I Tunchix of Kaskia
THE PEOPLE ETERNAL
Esotericist vanguard-state with cyber-Leninist aesthetics. You read that right.


LAST GASP OF THE OLD WORLD JOIN THE TNPL RESIST WESTERN LIBERALISM BUY OUR GUNS
Meme courtesy of Khoronzon. | It's all Zeloria? Always has been. | The amogus thing. | aaaa I can't stop listening ;-;
Now with chapters: (1), (2), (3)
This nation is a story. It focuses on Reinkalistan, but reaches far beyond its borders.


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Allanea
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Postby Allanea » Mon Mar 29, 2021 8:25 am

There were only two aircraft.

There were some, no doubt, who would be disappointed – whether Royalists who expected the Free Kingdom to open its wallets and armories, the weapons and money to flow like water, or Allaneans who expected the same. This was, however, not how such things worked. This was not how such things worked even in conflicts where one expected the faction one was backing to win – much less in a war where Allaneans expected nothing but a righteous, yet doomed struggle. Even in a conflict where a party fully expects victory, there are rules to be followed, checks to be made, before one hands a weapon to even the finest ally.

There were only two aircraft.

For their mission to succeed required days of planning – first, checks with the Rekkutomel to find which areas of the borders were least monitored, then, hours spent by analysts poring over satellite photography and broadcast records, cross-referenced with meteorologist reports – until, at last, a route for the two planes could be worked out that was more or less safe.

They flew low to the water, with the radar backscatter from the waves as their shield, and then followed inland. Once close to the enemy's border – and it was an enemy they faced, not an opponent nor an adversary – the two planes shut off their radar altimeters and radios. Satellite reception and terrain comparison was their only guide now, and if one of the planes suffered an emergency, it would be entirely feasible that all on board would perish, and the crew of the other aircraft would only find out when they arrived – if they arrived at all.

This time they were lucky.

The two aircraft flew their routes among the mountaintops, sometimes sneaking below the cloud cover, at others rising above it. Every time they vanished among the clouds, the pilots played a gamble with their own lives and the lives of their cargo. The dictum was as it had always been for mountain pilots – there, below the clouds, eternity lurked.

For the last leg of their trip they flew low over the plains. Below them, the yellowing autumn grasslands, the hills, the mounds of mining offal moved at speed. Those who looked up could not know what the planes were – perhaps those of the Reinkalistani Air Force, perhaps Rekuttomel planes, perhaps a smuggler – swift, grey shapes, passing overhead as the engines buzzed.

At last they descended towards the meeting point.


* * *


There were only two aircraft. From the first plane, several groups of men came down. They seemed all alike – four groups of twelve men, each carrying a heavy rucksack, forming in four neat rows on the landing pad before they placed their rucksacks on the ground. A fifth group of twelve. Where the first four group were clearly soldiers – all tall, all muscled, all bearing the marks of professionalism, all of the same hue of skin, all with their hair cropped to near-bald – the fifth group was mixed. Those were camouflaged too, but some were men, some women, some older, some younger. At their lead, a man in his late thirties, carrying a pistol and dagger, accompanied by a young woman with a submachinegun, who was shorter than him – just over five feet tall, while the Allanean officer (and one did not require any ranks to understand this man was an officer!) was a towering six-and-six.

The second plane was even now being unloaded. It carried pallets, for ease of handling by even the simplest equipment.

The man, meanwhile, turned to the woman alongside him. "Well, my erstwhile Anastasia, lead the way. It would be ideal if you found someone who's in charge here."

The interpreter – for this was the woman's role here – flagged down a serious-looking local. "This man here is Colonel Dianthus F. Carnation." – it did not require one to be a super-spy to understand this was hardly the man's birth name – "He desires to speak to someone in charge."
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South Reinkalistan
Ambassador
 
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Founded: Mar 12, 2019
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby South Reinkalistan » Fri Apr 02, 2021 7:37 am


Kuryekkin's Point
4:02 PM

It was most certainly an isolated base. A handful of rebels milled around performing their various tasks in what was effectively a glorified campsite nestled between the hills. Grizzled, scarred men and women alike were on break, sitting on boxes and on the ground playing cards, smoking cheap cigarettes - a luxury - or just staring emptily into the calm afternoon sky.

All in all, the two planes touching down gathered significant attention. While, of course, life in the Rekkutomel wasn't exactly boring, small outposts like 'Yekkin (a crude colloquialism for the location, honouring a warlord of distant antiquity) still didn't receive much attention from the higher-ups in the organisation -- much less foreigners. As the aircraft touched down, they most certainly had the attention of much of the base. Suddenly, a holler called: "Countrymen, ignore the planes and get back to work! These bloody boxes aren't going to move themselves!"

A tough-looking man stepped out with a female interpreter, and he marched over to one of the rebels. He said something in Russian to the interpreter, and she relayed the message to him. The rebel in question was rather short and stocky, covered in scars and carrying an assault rifle, an unfriendly expression on his face. Grunting, he motioned to a large, semi-permanent looking structure of white canvas with the three crowns of the Rekkutomel on the side. "The Captain'll be in there." With that, he went back to his empty staring at nothing in particular.





The interior of the quasi-tent was a most chaotic state of affairs. Books and papers and military equipment were all scattered everywhere, several tables with maps on set up and small counters designating unit locations. Rebel officers rushed about while soldiers ran through doing chores, an unusually animated scene to serve as the command post for such a sleepy base.

In the centre of this chaos, as if the eye of the storm itself, stood the Captain the rebel had mentioned. He wore a red beret and jet-black fatigues, his eyes wide and frenzied as he stared intensely at the map. "Planes, planes, planes! We can't take the amount of planes they have!" He called to no one in particular, "but I'm sure if we move our SAM sites..." he trailed off, noticing the arrival of Colonel Carnation. He smiled, a genuinely gleeful measure. "Ah, you have arrived, friends! The Duchess herself notified me that you would be coming! How can I help you?"
THE PEOPLE ETERNAL
Esotericist vanguard-state with cyber-Leninist aesthetics. You read that right.


LAST GASP OF THE OLD WORLD JOIN THE TNPL RESIST WESTERN LIBERALISM BUY OUR GUNS
Meme courtesy of Khoronzon. | It's all Zeloria? Always has been. | The amogus thing. | aaaa I can't stop listening ;-;
Now with chapters: (1), (2), (3)
This nation is a story. It focuses on Reinkalistan, but reaches far beyond its borders.


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Allanea
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Postby Allanea » Fri Apr 02, 2021 8:01 am

"Good day, Sir." - spoke the Colonel. " I have with me several teams of Operatives – that's to say they're trained in direct action but also as instructors. There's also a plane that's loaded with supplies which I understand your men are unloading as we speak. Substantially, I'm here to organize assistance for your men, on one hand in the terms of training in a range of disciplines, on the other hand I'm here to observe your operations and get a better understanding of what your people need." - he waited for a few seconds as the interpreter relayed his meaning.

"What we have in the plane are all manner of supplies which will make warfighting run a lot smoother, so to speak, for your men – night vision goggles, binoculars, uniforms, boots – seemingly minor things, you know. But you look like you know how important these can be. Going forward we need to see what are things you need. But for now I'd like to talk to you about my teams- obviously we're not going to stick all fifty men in one place – we'd need at least four locations where we can deploy them in decent conditions, probably three that are relatively secure training bases, and one that'd be closer to the action so to speak. Do you grasp my meaning?"

The interpreter spoke again. While she did, the Colonel looked about, taking in the details of the office – he did not come to be where he was in life by not paying attention.
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South Reinkalistan
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Founded: Mar 12, 2019
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby South Reinkalistan » Fri Apr 02, 2021 8:47 am

4:04 PM

The Captain's smile grew wider as the interpreter spoke on, seemingly undeterred by the small number of men to arrive. He clapped his hands together with elation, before remembering his position and reasserting his own composure. "Right -- well, I am sure this can be arranged. I don't necessarily have the authority to immediately make such deployments by myself; I will have to get you into contact and bring the matter up with High Command. You have my thanks - our thanks - regardless, and your help is much appreciated."

He stood up and nudged one of his aides. "I'd like you to contact Maykay, confirm the Allaneans have arrived, and request General Vanczyrska makes his way here as planned."

"Yes, Sir."

With that, the aide rushed out. The Captain turned to Corporal Carnation with a slight smile. "Well then, while we wait for a representative of High Command to arrive, you'll be here I suppose. Should I organise accommodation and food for you and your men? Must be tired after the long flight here."
THE PEOPLE ETERNAL
Esotericist vanguard-state with cyber-Leninist aesthetics. You read that right.


LAST GASP OF THE OLD WORLD JOIN THE TNPL RESIST WESTERN LIBERALISM BUY OUR GUNS
Meme courtesy of Khoronzon. | It's all Zeloria? Always has been. | The amogus thing. | aaaa I can't stop listening ;-;
Now with chapters: (1), (2), (3)
This nation is a story. It focuses on Reinkalistan, but reaches far beyond its borders.


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Allanea
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Posts: 24414
Founded: Antiquity
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Postby Allanea » Fri Apr 02, 2021 9:06 am

If there was any disappointment that Colonel Carnation felt, he did not not betray it. He said, simply:

"I understand. Please, direct my men to their accomodations."
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Outer Acharet
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Founded: Jul 29, 2020
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Outer Acharet » Fri Apr 02, 2021 5:36 pm

◦ 1 ◦
───────────────


    Prof. HARLAN AUGUSTIN

    GRAYS COLLEGE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES | LEYTON | ACHARET | DAY 0

It always rained in Leyton. Or at least, it seemed it did. Day in, day out. They said it didn't always rain, that it was just the monsoons that made it that way, just the rainy summers, or the rainy winters, or the rainy springs and the rainy falls, but nonetheless it rained. The streets were flooded with puddles, the river swelling its banks. There was water, water everywhere- water in the bay, water lapping against the barges' hulls, water tumbling down the River Elythe from the Crescent into the sea, water falling down to the sky onto a city grown used to the drum-drum-drum of rain ever-present through the days and months of its life, water beating against the windowsill of Harlan Augustin's dull, dreary classroom and tumbling down to the university green below.

Green- the same color as the lower field of the flag hanging behind him, the only splash of color in the collegiate whites and dun browns of the sideroom and the equally muted clothes of the precious few students in front of him. Only eight, there were- eight in the entirety of his political sciences class, eight people in the entirety of his program. None of them looked particularly interesting. Either they were the sons- always sons, never daughters- of some rich industrialist up north trying to get their kids into Acherton- no, Achar-Tam, they're calling it that now- or they were empty-eyed, sunken, tired people trying their damnedest to get a bit of sleep in between other, more relevant classes.

Relevant- it had been a long time since Harlan had been relevant. Professor Augustin, or August as his students called him, had had a full class precisely once in his entire educator's career. That had been back in the early eighties- or was it the late seventies? Only fifty-eight and his mind was already going, he thought- when those Reds had been stirring the pot abroad. Albish, they were, or maybe they were some other lot. People had cared, then, even if they'd only cared about the prospect of bombs dropping on their quiet homes or ships full of soldiers sailing out of their quiet ports. But no one cared any more. Anno Domini nineteen-ninety-three and all people could be damned to care about was where their next meals came from.

If Harlan was honest with himself he hardly cared any more either. A career spent teaching people passionate only for the career ladder they'd be climbing outside his classroom had done a number on him, the once-inflamed young idealist now little more than a broken middle-aged man with limbs slimmed by disuse and the faintest hint of a pot-belly poking through a worn tweed suit. There wasn't anything to care about, no causes to rally for, nothing that anyone could change in this country. There were wars abroad, soldiers killing each other and dying in ditches for crowns and scarlet banners and men in jackboots, but nothing here. Even the tanks those so-called revolutionaries were so fond of rolling down city streets were starting to show their age. It was the little changes one had to grow to love- the changes in the trees, the changes in the weather, the changes on the calendar.

Not revolutions. Revolutions were for other people, Harlan thought, watching as one of his students- a man in a suit far too expensive for him to have purchased with any sort of fair-won money- gingerly turned a page in his textbook. Or maybe it was a textbook- it could've been a bloody snuff novel and Harlan couldn't have done anything to take it from him, judging by that suit. That suit said many things, foremost of which was that this man was going places, and that marking him down as anything less than a perfect student would be the quickest way to earn a censure. His parents probably paid for a good portion of Grays, or at least the executives' salaries. And that made him exceptional, in more ways than one.

The only revolutions that happened in Leyton, Harlan knew, were those of clocks completing yet another loop around their circuits. And, he started to see, those proclaimed by the badges of the pair of uniformed men that with a slam blustered through his classroom's door and moved to seat themselves at the back of his room. They stepped with grace unbecoming of their entrance, and of their giants' bulk, and like whispers they somehow managed to fit themselves into a pair of students' desks. Another, leaner, balding man in a considerably plainer suit, his eyes framed by wire-glasses, stepped through into the room after them and took his place by the door. Harlan shifted a hand in their direction, his tongue frozen in his mouth, but the little one raised his hand, and struck dumb Harlan lowered it again.

Well, this was interesting.

Wait, the man mouthed, and gestured for Harlan to slip down into his director's chair once more. The professor did so. He hadn't even realized he'd stood. His eyes wandered to the clock on the far wall of his classroom, and as if the turning of some great machine or the convenience of God demanded it it rang, the old clapper sounding hollow throughout the room. One after another, his students shuffled from the room, and the muscle that had entered stood. As they stepped closer Harlan found himself shying away from them.

"Do you... do you need something?" he said, his voice quivering as he stepped forward to shake the balding man's hand. It was cold, clammy- like a fish. Well, that was to be expected- it was raining outside, after all. It always rained in Leyton.

Collected, the man's mouth opened. It moved tightly, precisely, the words it formed calm and measured. "Not particularly. Or rather, yes- you." His hand dropped to his pocket, and he produced a crisp, white notecard. On it was scribbled in blue pen a set of letters written just as precisely as he was. "Professor... Augustin. As in, the university."

"Hah- actually, it's tine, that school, Augustee-" Harlan was rather firmly reminded that he was not presently dealing with his typical dispassionate student by a snap of the man's hand and a corresponding subtle shift of one of the suits standing behind him. This particular individual was disinterested in Harlan's words for a rather different reason than most people he dealt with. "I, uh... yes. That's me."

"Political science?"

Harlan nodded again, this time curtly, whatever energy he might've put into it now devoted to not producing another snap. "Well, um, focus on world affairs. I... not many people care about it."

"Indeed. It's preferable to the alternative." The man turned back to his card, his aside going unmentioned and unacknowledged. "The alternative, Professor Augustin, is what I'm here for. I doubt you're aware of this, despite what your file says, but the Revolutionary Army- I'm sure you've heard of us- makes a habit of, well... keeping tabs on world affairs." He shook his head, the sole tuft of wispy grey hair on the fore of his head bobbing as he did. "It's a necessity of our mission.

"And, well..." he continued, "we sometimes see opportunity in what we see. We are not, Professor, as passive as what your tenure here may lead you to think." His thin lips curled in something that he probably thought wasn't at all an intimidating smile. He was wrong. "Sometimes we take a distinct interest in those opportunities, and sometimes we need specific people to look into those interests. I suppose you understand what I'm saying."

No, Harlan thought, I definitively don't. He nodded nonetheless.

"That's what I thought." The man stuck out his hand once more. This time Harlan grabbed it without a flinch. "The name's Sheffield, by the way; Ernest, to be precise. These are Brown and Keating." He nodded his head at the two musclebound, uncomfortable soldiers behind him, one with close-cropped hair in a buzzcut and the other a Marine-style block shave. They dipped their heads in turn. "Anyways, I believe I've something to ask you."

He leaned in closer now, as if conspiratorially. "Son, would you like to do your country a favor?"

"I..." By now, Harlan was sorely confused. This was moving very fast, especially for a man whose primary job consisted of watching rich assholes waste his time. But something told him that acting as if he was in any way not following the conversation would be a poor choice on his part. "...I suppose so." He turned to glance at the flag behind him. He bore no particular love to it, but he knew a man with a concealed firearm when he saw one, and both this Brown and that Keating very clearly were two such men.

"Good. Then I'd say it's on to the matter at hand we go." The RevArmy representative slid his card back into his pocket and produced another, just-as-anally-detailed second to its first. "Like I said, son, we've got eyes in most places, and, well... we've been seeing things, recently. In some place called..." the man, Sheffield, looked back down at his card, his nose curling as he did. "Wrinkle-Stan. Their, uh... Kaskia, more precisely. In essence, all you need to know right now is that the state's a People's Federation and their people are up to something decidedly intriguing to us. We'd like you to take a bit of a holiday there, have a bit of a look-see. On the Civil Service's dime, of course."

Warily, Harlan dipped his head in a nod. "I see." He did not. "But... why are you coming to me? What the hell even is this?" A pause, uncomfortably long. "I... sorry, sir, pardon my language."

At Harlan's outburst, Sheffield's eyes had narrowed in a way Harlan found quite ironic. But just as quickly as they'd tightened they fell back to a neutral, impassive gaze. "No trouble, no harm done. Anyways, why is simple enough. The list of people with any sort of academic reason to take an interest in foreign events and the political background to justify following Wrinkly-Land's particularly closely that we're aware of is an incredibly short one, and the second-nearest one's all the way across the Crescent. We're not all that fond of flying her in by helicopter if we can get you-"

Oh, so this was what this was all about. Something had told him that attending that Communist function back in his own stint at college thirty years ago was going to come back to haunt him, but he'd never been quite sure how. Well, now he knew. And apparently, Sheffield had known well before him: "-and even though we're sure you've moved on from whatever you believed in your wild youth, my good man, it's enough for our purposes."

"Oh, by the way- I don't expect you to say no." Sheffield stuck out his hand once more, and just as before Harlan took it. This time he was distinctly aware that the slime and the clamminess in Sheffield's grip was distinctly not the rain's doing. "Your calendar's been cleared already." He smiled at Harlan, and with cornered eyes Harlan returned the gesture.

His lips moved, and the words they formed were ones he already despised. "...yessir."

Sheffield nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. "That's a good man. Now buck up. Life is about to get a lot more exciting for you, my boy. You're finally making something of your life. It's going to be much better than this dreary old classroom, eh?"

Harlan didn't know what to make of any of this. And that- that scared him.






    Dept. of FOREIGN AFFAIRS

    REVOLUTIONARY ARMY of the STATE OF ACHARET to the DHOERISH UNION





ᴇɴᴄʀʏᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ʜɪɢʜᴇsᴛ ᴘᴏssɪʙʟᴇ - ʀᴇᴄɪᴘɪᴇɴᴛ's ᴇʏᴇs ᴏɴʟʏ

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Communique from the
REVOLUTIONARY ARMY OF THE STATE OF ACHARET
THE PEOPLE'S VOICE SHALL NOT BE SILENCED


To whoever may find themselves in reception of this letter;

Firstly, thank you for your time in receiving this. I am well aware that both the symbolism of our organisation's name and the motto we so proudly center on this communication would be significant turn-offs, as it were, to any possible opportunity for cooperation.

However, I would like to take the opportunity to reassure you that despite the total and complete diplomatic silence of our state in regards to the majority of the rest of the world and your region of it in particular our own interests align rather closely with yours.

We are well aware of the ideological stench of any sort of communistic bent; we have dealt with it ourselves, on more than one occasion- the rifles gracing our seal aren't just for show. And to our foreign apparatus, this stench reeks most vehemently from these so-called "vanguardists". We have been through ways and means enlightened as to the specifics of a situation developing in the southern provinces of Reinkalistan we are certain you remain well abreast of.

With this knowledge in hand, we find it in our interests to act on it in some degree. What form this action will take is presently limited in scope- we do not intend to interfere in that which is definitively the Confederation of Reinkalistani States and your own state's sovereignty. The southern provinces of Reinkalistan are and will always be completely out of the right of the present occupying regime to administer. Nonetheless, though, we are as mentioned unfortunately at present an unknown to your state, or to your fellows. We apologize presently for this laxity; our previous unwillingness to interact on the diplomatic stage was one our circumstances dictated to us. Those circumstances no longer apply to our Civil Service, and thus we wish to begin to do what we can on the world stage to right its present wrongs- the regime occupying southern Reinkalistan a prime example of those ills, and one we would do well to oppose, albeit for the moment quietly.

However, certain obstacles we face at home persist and make the prospect of any sort of open participation in this situation a non-starter. We would wish to enter into greater cooperation with your state in regards to approaching this issue; the values of liberty you espouse are those we share, and while we are aware that our potential to take action in the region is far less significant than yours, we nonetheless are interested in seeking out opportunities for joint action.

Our proposal, then, is more or less a simple one: We wish to engage in intelligence-gathering operations in regard to the special circumstances currently unfolding in southern Reinkalistan. Furthermore we wish to foster cooperation between our two states. We have come into possession of a suitable set of individuals for the undertaking of such an action, but given the... uniqueness of the regime in de-facto control over the territories in southern Reinkalistan, and your own significant influence and stake in the region, we find it to our favor to inform your government as to our planned action and to secure your support.

Thus, my government's request: If you will permit our few liaisons your support and your bloc's support in entering Kaskia and conducting our planned actions there, we are prepared to offer you whatever fruits it may produce with full openness on our part and complete deniability on yours. We are, unfortunately, as yet an unknown- as we have said. We wish to rectify that situation, and offering our skills to you in this regard seems a suitable way to do so. Our people are professionals. An acceptance of this offer would do both our states much good.

I eagerly await your response and the coming period of cooperation between our governments.



Signed,
Undersec. of State Terence Maugher


Last edited by Outer Acharet on Mon Apr 19, 2021 11:35 am, edited 2 times in total.
⠀✭⠀THE STATE OF ACHARET⠀✭⠀
The puppet that just won't stay dead has crawled its way out of the grave once more.
oh shit oh fuck why is there a black huey full of angry canadians trying to kill me-

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Overview - Soon | Leadership - Soon

News? What news? News is for people who don't have a bloated military-industrial complex strangling their apparatus of state. Wait, that sounds like a bad thing, doesn't it?

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South Reinkalistan
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1328
Founded: Mar 12, 2019
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby South Reinkalistan » Fri Apr 02, 2021 7:25 pm


Satychi
Dhoerish Union

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Presidential Residence
8:02AM

    President Frederick Elias. That was his name. It was a name that echoed the world over; one that evoked fear or adoration, hatred or love. For where Dhoeria stood, it was propped up by a military presence that inspired awe into its allies and envy into its enemies. Across the D'ailloustre Line - the division between Vanguardism and Liberal Democracy - the sight of Dhoerish soldiers was more common than those of the native armies which stood there. It was during Elias' 7-year Presidency that this utter dominance had grown from "powerful" to "suffocating". There were now significant opposition movements in the nations of the North Askander Defense League which desired to see the Dhoerish out, pacifists who saw them to be more occupiers than liberators. This challenge to his country's sphere of influence concerned Elias, but regardless he was still of a stalwart conviction: the line, and the forces currently stationed there, would be maintained.

    Elias himself was a striking man. A stubble-dusted, pointed chin jutting upwards to form a sharp jawline, almost flawless raven hair punctuated by streaks of arctic grey. He was the ideal politician -- handsome, charismatic, intelligent, and more than anything ruthless. The will to utterly destroy his enemies, and the pretty face and silken tone to make it acceptable to the press. If there was anyone who was ready to bring down Dhoeria's professed hammer of liberty unto the communist, it was Elias. He of course had increased funding for the Rekkutomel in the P.F.R., something frustrated by what were rapidly becoming somewhat impermeable security measures by the occupier regime. He envied the pre '01 Presidents; Mozhkin Turaniski's father had been comparatively lax with state security, and shipping equipment to the rebels had been a laughably easy task. Not anymore. Now the flow of arms had been frustrated, greatly reduced numbers compared to what had once been. But regardless, Dhoeria would find a way. It always had done. As long as the tyrant stood and his shadow was cast over nations in chains, the free world would stand eternal and adapt accordingly.

    He sat in his office, at his meticulously polished oak-wood desk, working on some more boring, non-descript work -- reading briefings, approving projects; the usual. This dull monotony was shattered by a most welcome knock on the door. "Come in." Elias' voice was deep and firm, yet with a softened quality to it. The door creaked open, and his secretary stepped in: a smiling, high-heeled, and eternally smiling woman named Krista. She held a sealed plastic folder in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. "Ah, Krista." He noted, quickly presuming that the message was uninteresting.

    "Good Morning, Mr. President." Beamed the girl, deliberately ignoring his dreary, bored tone. "I have some important news, or so I should think." This caught the President's attention, his eyes rising from his work with a glitter of interest. "Well," she continued, "I presume so; it's a communication for your eyes only, so it better be relevant news at least."

    "Interesting." He smiled. "Leave it on my desk, please. I'll get round to it soon."

    "Of course!" She placed the folder - marked "PRESIDENTIAL VIEWING ONLY" - next to his laptop, nearly spilling his mug of tea while she did so. After a hasty apology, she hurried out, leaving Elias by himself to investigate the mysterious message. He cautiously cracked it open, and withdrew a printed piece of paper, containing a message from a Foreign Secretary he had not heard of, hailing from a country of a similar nature. "Acharet...?" He murmured to himself. The name didn't exactly ring any bells. Regardless, he read the contents, and was rather intrigued by said contents. A brief internet search confirmed that, indeed, a nation called Acharet did, in fact, exist; he picked up his phone, directly linked to Krista downstairs. It rang for a matter of seconds until it was picked up at the other end. "Hello?" Came Krista's voice.

    "Krista, mind getting me through to the Foreign Office?"

    "O-of course. Sending you through now."




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DHOERISH MINISTRY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS
OFFICIAL COMMUNICATION

To: Terence Maugher; Undersecretary of State; State of Acharet
Encryption: High
Regarding: Proposal of Co-Operation Against the People's Federation of Reinkalistan

Greetings,

The Dhoerish Union has received your message. We appreciate, greatly, your offers of assistance. As it stands, the "People's Federation" of Reinkalistan - an illegal occupation of territory which by right belongs to the Reinkalistani Confederation - is a threat to the liberties of all free men and women across the globe. Hundreds of millions suffer under its iron fist, the embattled masses crying for liberation against the uncaring Commissars and Partymen who treat them as undifferentiated human matter. Despite our relative lack of knowledge with regards to your existence, an unfortunate complication no doubt produced by your priorly isolated position (which, for the record, the Union does not necessarily oppose at all; foreign affairs and how they are exercised are a key part of the national sovereignty that we have no wish to infringe upon), we are willing to tentatively support your embarkment upon the operation you delineate.

Naturally, it is preferred that Dhoeria's involvement in your plan is best kept unknown to the world at large. This is a matter of national security relevant to the integrity of our commitments to the North Askander Defense League; however, we are willing to support your efforts in any reasonable capacity you desire. Obviously there are limits, but these limits are significantly more flexible given the nature of the adversary we both face. Of course, this is conditional support; namely, we would like to request the following:

  1. That no harm whatsoever comes to the civilian population in southern Reinkalistan;

  2. That Dhoeria is informed to a greater extent than at present with regards to the particular nature of Acharet's planned operations; and

  3. That no existing Dhoerian intelligence networks in the region be disturbed. Further information might be provided on request.
These terms are generally non-negotiable. Apart from that, however, Dhoeria is wholly able and willing to support your endeavours.

Yours Sincerely,
Jonathan Kosch; Minister of Foreign Affairs; Union of Dhoeria
THE PEOPLE ETERNAL
Esotericist vanguard-state with cyber-Leninist aesthetics. You read that right.


LAST GASP OF THE OLD WORLD JOIN THE TNPL RESIST WESTERN LIBERALISM BUY OUR GUNS
Meme courtesy of Khoronzon. | It's all Zeloria? Always has been. | The amogus thing. | aaaa I can't stop listening ;-;
Now with chapters: (1), (2), (3)
This nation is a story. It focuses on Reinkalistan, but reaches far beyond its borders.


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Outer Acharet
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 416
Founded: Jul 29, 2020
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Outer Acharet » Mon Apr 19, 2021 12:25 pm

◦ 1.1 ◦
───────────────


    Dept. of FOREIGN AFFAIRS

    REVOLUTIONARY ARMY of the STATE OF ACHARET to the DHOERISH UNION





ᴇɴᴄʀʏᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ʜɪɢʜᴇsᴛ ᴘᴏssɪʙʟᴇ

Image

Communique from the
REVOLUTIONARY ARMY OF THE STATE OF ACHARET
THE PEOPLE'S VOICE SHALL NOT BE SILENCED


To my esteemed counterpart Mr. Kosch;

It brings me and the government I represent no small satisfaction to see our offer of cooperation so warmly received; we had previously considered that our state's previous diplomatic tendencies would have earned us some skepticism, and your acceptance of our proposal is certainly a welcome one. Of course we find your terms satisfactory; all things considered, they are incredibly generous. Declaring them as non-negotiable is, of course, to be expected, and my government understands as much. Similarly your request for absolute secrecy is one we will be pleased to uphold to the utmost of our ability.

Thus we may discuss the terms you have proposed.


  1. While we are not able to confirm with absolute certainty that this will be the end result of our operations, we are nonetheless happy to comply within limits. We will make all due effort to prevent causing undue harm to an innocent and indeed oppressed populace; however, should in the event of unforeseen and unfortunate circumstances our operatives be forced to evacuate the region we are prepared to offer compensation for damages incurred. Some degree of flexibility must exist in all statecraft, I'm sure you understand.


  2. This is absolutely understandable; in the name of operational security we were previously intentionally quite vague about our response. Our proposed operations are as of present incredibly limited; the intent as of present is to (with Dhoerish assistance in conveying our people through the League's assets near the militarized zone) insert a small number of (functionally redundant) personnel into Kaskian territory by any means possible and conduct observational work regarding the ongoing crisis there, as via a small, unaffiliated presence we would be capable of conducting much closer observation of events than more prominent operations might be able to achieve. Similarly our personnel will via intermingling with the local populace begin the cultivation of an Acharetian network in the region. By doing so, we intend to in essence demonstrate the potency of our state's intelligence framework in light of conducting further operations. In addition to our operational detachment we intend to deploy a small response team for the purposes of necessary extraction, on the scale of two to three light rotorcraft. These will not be employed except in the direst of circumstances facing our own operational unit.

    In essence, good sir, what we intend to offer your state is redundancy. By constructing our own structure independent of your own, we are capable of providing you with a second route into the region that might survive should catastrophe occur, and are capable of keeping an information flow out of southern Reinkalistan in circumstances where other methods might otherwise fail. Two heads are better than one, as it were.


  3. Of course. We will conduct ourselves with the utmost professionalism and discretion. Acharet has never failed to do so in previous operations, and we do not intend to blemish our Civil Service's good reputation now.

As an aside, the primary reason for the Acharetian state's limited foreign engagement notwithstanding we would most certainly be open to the provisioning of information and engagement in the future. Anything for our cooperation, my good sir.



Signed,
Undersec. of State Terence Maugher


Last edited by Outer Acharet on Mon Apr 19, 2021 12:32 pm, edited 1 time in total.
⠀✭⠀THE STATE OF ACHARET⠀✭⠀
The puppet that just won't stay dead has crawled its way out of the grave once more.
oh shit oh fuck why is there a black huey full of angry canadians trying to kill me-

Some Other... Things: Kiu GhesikMiranda-22CBG-Palisade
Overview - Soon | Leadership - Soon

News? What news? News is for people who don't have a bloated military-industrial complex strangling their apparatus of state. Wait, that sounds like a bad thing, doesn't it?

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Polska Rzeczpospolita Robotnicza
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 51
Founded: Aug 26, 2020
Democratic Socialists

Postby Polska Rzeczpospolita Robotnicza » Tue Apr 20, 2021 1:03 pm



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Warsaw, Polish People's Republic.
23:25

The streets of Warsaw lay silent, Warsaw never really had an outstanding nightlife but with the renewed curfews, it would seem as though all activity in the city had come to a halt by this time. Every once in a while you may see a BTR-60 belonging to ZOMO moving through the streets or set up in a blockade, but other than that the city was entirely dead, as though someone had just pulled the plug and turned off the sound. In the dead of the Warsaw night, a dim light could be seen moving through the road by a ZOMO patrol, getting brighter and brighter every second it approached. When the light had turned into the silhouette of a small black car, a vintage FSO Warszawa, the ZOMO forces quickly moved to block it off, moving onto the road to cut off access for the car. As the vehicle came to a stop after seeing the officers, the man driving would quickly open his door and display a card to the men, before they would back away and let him through the roadblock. Damnable buffoons, he thought, those morons should've been instructed I was on my way. Despite his ill-thoughts towards the ZOMO, MO, and the SB that ruled over them, he sighed and tried to remain somewhat composed.


The small car continued on its journey towards its destination, the building of the Central Committee of the Polish United Workers' Party. As the vehicle continued upon its course, other ZOMO groups stood down upon seeing the vehicle, having been ordered to after the first roadstop incident in order to avoid wasting time. When the vehicle arrived at the building itself, the occupant of the car quickly moved to exit, and rushed into the building as though he were late for something of incredibly importance. Heading into the building, the man quickly rushed into the meeting room, where some nine other men, all particularly annoyed looking, were sitting. The man took off his coat and moved to sit down for the meeting, which had been apparently called for such short notice as it surrounded an issue that the other members of the Politburo were already eager to get on with. Unfortunately for the tired and late man, he was the Minister of Foreign Affairs, someone who was critical to this meeting and who should've not been trying to get to sleep when his phone blasted across his home in the middle of the night. The dishevelled man stared blankly at the First Secretary of the party, before the meeting was officially started.


The First Secretary started off with his usual greetings to the members, before commencing with the true reason the men had been assembled. "Gentlemen, as I'm sure you know, you have been called here to a meeting of the Politburo to discuss the current state of affairs in Reinkalistan..." Reinkalistan. Reinkalistan. There was something off about the name, it simply didn't roll off of the tongue of the man, as though it were a foreign name to not just Poland, but the entire goddamn planet. He knew what it was, of course, but there was something about it that always made him feel uneasy when hearing it, something to do with the way it was said perhaps, or just his fatigued mind infecting his thoughts again. Either way, there was still something that felt off to him, but nothing that he could really do about it. "Comrade Mozhkin Turaniski is a vital potential ally in that region, and the Polish People's Republic must do whatever it can to assist a strategic interest against those who would not be collaborative with the interests of the Polish working people." The First Secretary continued on, acting as though he had just convened the entire Central Committee instead of a bored and gloomy Politburo that would rather he just got on with it instead of filling the room with pointless, wasted words better spent on younger and more enthusiastic cadres. Nevertheless, one was not usually in a position to say anything against the general, at least not to his face anyway. Regardless, the meeting rolled on into the night.


Thankfully, once the First Secretary was done presenting the issue, most of the Politburo agreed that it was necessary to dispatch aid to the South Reinkalistani regime, in order to assist them in their fight against reaction in the north. Unfortunately, discussion on how to achieve that aim would lead to a divided consensus. The other military men saw sending armed support as volunteers and assistants for the Reinkalistani armed forces as the most viable method, with forces to be flown in through air-freight along with equipment, both small arms and other, heavier pieces such as artillery and armoured vehicles. The other members preferred that only small arms be sent until the situation in Reinkalistan could become more clear, worried that sending Polish forces could damage the economy through keeping them in Reinkalistan, and also worried that shipping over what amounted to a battalion's worth of troops would probably not be considered friendly by foreign regimes that could turn their gaze upon Poland next. The disagreement only worsened once one of the generals suggested what amounted to a repeat of the Afghan War, an actual invasion of Northern Reinkalistan with aid of the South Reinkalistani forces. Needless to say, this idea was swiftly beaten down, but the discord prevented any proper productive solution from being found for a few hours before the Minister of Foreign Affairs, on the verge of collapsing from weariness, suggested a mixture of a limited number of troops to train the Reinkalistanis in using their equipment, and equipment to assist the People's Federation in their fight. How and why nobody had suggested this before was dumbfounding, but needless to say, the men had mostly come to a consensus on the issue by around four in the morning. Closing the session, the First Secretary was about to embark upon another one of his verbal tirades before one of the other members fell asleep, cutting him short with their snoring. In the end, the session was closed by everyone's fatigue, not by the First Secretary, something he would definitely get back at the other Politburo members for at some point in the future.


As the minister trudged back towards his car outside the building, he stopped and stared at the ground for a second, attempting to get his bearings after having nearly collapsed walking out of the meeting room. Slowly, he would begin to make his way towards his vehicle again, before falling asleep at the wheel as soon as he sat down in the car. He was woken up by a MO officer on patrol outside of the building a few minutes later, and was escorted home aboard a MO APC, preventing him from dozing off in his car, which would only be a threat to his own safety and presumably not a fantastic place to spend the night either. Regardless, the minister dreaded the task that awaited him tomorrow, writing a communique to send to the Reinkalistanis was something that he had no patience for at the present time.




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Warsaw, Polish People's Republic.
08:00

Having been awake so late the night before, the minister was certainly not happy to have to wake up now, and was extremely displeased at the prospect of having to write any message to anyone, let alone an official government communique to the Reinkalistani government. Nevertheless, it was an unfortunate necessity, something of vital importance to the Polish state and to the PZPR itself, especially in the wake of the collapse of the vast majority of the USSR's forces during the invasion a decade or so prior. Regardless, the strain of continuous government work since the the 1990s had put considerable stress on the ability of the minister to function, and as the party continued to age, more and more formerly enthusiastic men were becoming worn out and broken, with the strange exception of the First Secretary, who still behaves as though he had just saved socialism from the traitors of the Round Table or whatever the fuck they called Solidarity and the ex-PZPR negotiators these days. Moving to dress himself, the minister thought about resigning from his position and appointing some youthful underling to his place, but let go of that thought when he realized that they would never accept his resignation and would keep him in that office until the day he dies. Not exactly a comforting thought as you were about to go to that exact office, but the only one he could really provide himself with.


Stepping out from his house, the minister was disappointed to find that his damned car hadn't been dropped off to his house, but expected no better from ZOMO regardless. He began his slow and painful walk through the streets of Warsaw, heading in the direction of the Central Committee building, hoping to find his car before he goes to his actual place of work. A few minutes of walking wasn't so bad though, it allowed him to clear his mind of the anger he had been feeling that morning, returning him to his usual, calmer self. Well, until the next infantile incident in the party anyway. Luckily, his car was still parked where he had left it, and nobody had touched the damn thing in the time it had taken for him to get there. Of all the places to leave your car, at least the Central Committee had reliable constant patrols that made sure that the vintage thing wasn't stolen and driven into a ditch by some drunken teenager, or sold in Ukraine by some sleazebag Russian immigrant hoping to get rich quick.


Piecing himself together, the minister drove towards his most hated building in his entire life, the fucking Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Getting out of car after parking it, he trudged inside the building, before walking up to his office and planting himself in front of his typewriter, better than those old computers that hadn't evolved in the last three decades at the very least. Although more ministries were adopting them as more commonly seen hardware as opposed to the venerable old typewriter. He quickly dusted off the old typeface, and inserted another piece of paper, stamped with official government seals signifying the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, before beginning to type his most important message.





Official Communique from the Polish Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
Image
Polish People's Republic
Jeszcze Polska nie zginęła!


TO THE OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT OF THE PEOPLE'S FEDERATION OF REINKALISTAN

We are aware of the intent of foreign powers to assault the righteous People's Federation of Reinkalistan, and as internationalists we are compelled to support Reinkalistan in her struggle for freedom and democracy against those who would so eagerly strip Reinkalistan bare of anything of use. As to ensure the victory of Reinkalistan, the People's Republic of Poland has authorized the transfer of the following materiel for the defence of the Reinkalistani nation against foreign imperialism:

  • Ten-thousand (10,000) units of the 7.62x39 chambered AKM produced in Poland for export purposes.

  • Five (5) SKOT-2A armoured personnel carriers mounting a 14.5x114 chambered KPV Heavy Machinegun along with a coaxial 7.62x54 chambered PKT Machinegun. Each APC is capable of carrying up to two (2) crew
    and ten (10) passengers. Horsepower is rated at 177 hp with a Tatra T-928-14 V-8 diesel engine.

  • Fifty (50) units of the GROM MANPADs system. Each launcher is single-use with a reusable gripstock and thermal battery system, allowing for components to be recycled when the launcher is expended.
The People's Republic of Poland is also willing to provide training assistance to the People's Federation of Reinkalistan in order to facilitate the usage of these weapons systems and ensure that maintenance will be carried out as expected by current Polish People's Army specifications. If the People's Federation of Reinkalistan is uninterested in the training assistance, then the Polish People's Republic will be willing to export the desired materiel with necessary maintenance manuals and kits as to ensure proper function in Reinkalistani hands. The people of Reinkalistan can be assured that the Polish People's Republic will continue to act in the best interests of the international proletariat, and that the working people of Poland will struggle alongside the Reinkalistani people against the imperialist menace.

We shall continue to recognize the independence of Reinkalistan under the banner of the Reinkalistani People's Federation, those of the imperialist world that do not recognize the freedom of Reinkalistan will shudder as the combined arms of the working people march against the Northern Reinkalistani reactionaries and their foreign capitalist puppet-masters who desire nothing but to bleed Reinkalistan dry in the name of imperialist plunder and cruelty, along with funding their mercenary allies and arms manufacturing cabals. If the People's Federation has any particular requests, then the Polish People's Republic will be open to negotiations for exact arms shipments and deliveries, along with necessary repair equipment and training should the People's Federation have an interest in more complex gear that is currently in the hands of the Polish People's Republic's stockpiles. If not then Reinkalistan can place an order for continued materiel deliveries, and the Polish working people shall deliver upon production request.

May the friendship between our people continue onwards into the new dawn of a socialist world order, and the final victory of the working people over the vile reactionary cliques that threaten our brave parties and people. For an eternal cooperation between Reinkalistan and Poland in the name of socialist fraternity!



Signed by the Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Polish People's Republic, Władysław Stankowski

Last edited by Polska Rzeczpospolita Robotnicza on Wed Apr 21, 2021 12:43 pm, edited 4 times in total.
Polish People's Republic
Polska Rzeczpospolita Ludowa

Overview
From the struggles of war and conflict
The new millennium has doomed the old world.

Poland remains as a relic of the old world, the last remaining old world government untouched by the ravages of the new world's order. But this is a harsh position, and whether Poland can survive this new era is yet to be known.

Alt of Kremlinian Russia.
NS stats not canon

Country does not represent my actual political opinions (I'm a Marxist-Leninist, I disapprove of the PRL due to its part in the Soviet revisionist bloc following the death of Stalin in 1953. In relation to Poland, Poland would become subverted as part of this bloc following Bierut's death in 1956, and Gomulka's party takeover).


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